Her trusty purse lay beside the bed, and Hannah sat up with a groan, reaching for the handle. It felt heavier than ever before, but she hauled it up on the bed with her nonetheless. She gave it a familiar pat. The bag had been with her for several years, all through her tour, all through her honeymoon with Kyril, and it was with her still. Unlike Kyril. The thought made her stomach turn.
It was cluttered with all sorts of mementos from Rome. She found what she was looking for at the very bottom—a neat stack of postcards, tied together with a length of ribbon.
Her sister should have something from her. She didn’t have an international plan on her phone, and with a stab of guilt she realized it had been quite some time since she’d called Helen, or even emailed. She hadn’t even shared the news of her marriage. It was something she wanted to do in person, so a postcard would have to do in the meantime. Though…would it be anything to announce? She couldn’t quite face the idea of telling Helen that she was married but that she was already separated from the father of her child. Not that they were getting a divorce, but…
It was too much. Back to the postcards.
They were pleasingly glossy, and Hannah flipped through them one by one, smiling in spite of herself. The pictures were gorgeous, idealized versions of every place she’d visited in Europe. There was one from Paris, one from Berlin, and many, many more from Italy. She’d come back to Italy more than once.
When she reached the Venice and Santorini postcards, a quiet joy rose to the front of her mind. They’d had such an amazing time, she and Kyril. They’d shared so much laughter, and now she was laughing alone, in a decent-enough hotel room. She could practically hear his disapproval now. There must be somewhere else to go, he’d say. The security here isn’t worthy of a member of the royal family. Our child should be better protected.
The postcards were supposed to be distracting her from her current heartbreaking predicament, but it wasn’t working. All she could think of was Kyril.
Well, what else was there to think about? What else was there to do? Why not allow herself to linger on his features, on his laugh, on the way he stood so confidently between Hannah and the world? She could spare a few minutes to wallow in her sadness.
But when she focused on his face, in sharp relief in her mind, she found she couldn’t wallow at all. The memory of his grin made her grin. And they’d been through so much together! The lava cake incident would be a highlight for the ages, and Kyril—oh, he’d been so intent on making sure everyone was safe. Especially her. Her above all. She could still feel the way his arms had cradled her on the way out of the villa. He’d been calm and strong, everything she’d wished for when she and Helen had spent all those years alone.
Hannah dropped her postcards to her lap with a sigh, hot tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She loved Kyril. It was a truth she couldn’t avoid, as much as she wanted to avoid it by writing out this postcard.
She wiped furiously at her eyes. Why couldn’t he stop protecting her long enough to see that what she needed wasn’t someone to smooth out every bump in the road, but a companion to share the ride, no matter how bumpy it got?
“You’re being ridiculous,” she told herself sternly.
There was a knock at the door.
Hannah bolted upright, her heart singing with hope.
She dashed to the door, pausing only once at the mirror to dab at her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
He stood in the hallway, his dark gaze apologetic and hopeful, too.
“Kyril,” she said softly, ignoring the flood of relief she felt at the sight of him. She steeled herself against his aura of power.
“May I come in?” It wasn’t a demand, but a request.
She held the door steady. “Are you going to listen to me?”
Kyril nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“I won’t let you in until you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“Admit that I’m capable of living my own life.”
“I know,” Kyril said, his eyes sincere. “You are more than capable. I was wrong to do what I did.”
“How exactly were you wrong? Tell me, and then we’ll discuss coming in.”
“I was controlling,” Kyril said. “I did things against your wishes. I tried to make every decision for your best interests, but I didn’t consult you.”
“You’re getting there.”
“I didn’t respect your independence.”
“That’s right,” Hannah said.
Kyril cleared his throat and tried again. “Will you let me in?”